


Tendo Choi: Skinny Legend

by destinae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: "God, if you’re out there" Newt thought, "I am fairly confident I have done absolutely nothing to deserve this. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove my worth."





	Tendo Choi: Skinny Legend

Newton Geiszler had made many bad decisions throughout his life. There was the time when he was eight years old, and he stood on top of several stacked chairs to try and get a puzzle from a high shelf, and ended up falling off and breaking his arm. There was a time when he was a teenager, and he’d tried to mosh despite having the bodily composition of a weeping willow, and ended up somehow pulling every single muscle in his right arm. There’d even been the time  that he consciously and in sound mind chose to meet Hermann Gottlieb in person, which stood pretty high on his list of bad ideas. Suffice to say, Newt knew a bad idea when he saw-- er,  _ made _ one. 

 

This was not a bad idea.

 

At least, not yet.

 

In his defense, he hadn’t ended up pinned to Tendo’s  _ surprisingly _ nice mattress, shirtless and sweaty and rock  **fucking** hard of his own volition. It was all Stacker’s idea. Newt and Hermann had found themselves about shoulder deep in  _ another _ one of their arguments, which had been happening at a constantly increasing interval, and Stacker had walked in with PPDC donor, arriving at a scene of Newt shaking some Kaiju entrails passionately, and Hermann pointing at the line painted on the ground.

 

Being the person he was, Newt hadn’t taken Stacker’s criticism well, so most of what had been said to him and Hermann had been blacked out. The only relevant instruction was that Newt was to spend the afternoon in LOCCENT, making sure that all their Breach-scanning software was functioning properly. Hermann had sequestered to the Jaeger bay, where he was supposed to check in on all the Pons Systems-- basically, the two of them had been put in what had to be the coolest version of time-out ever. After completing the check-up, which took a collective twenty minutes, Newt had spent the day catching up with Tendo.

 

The pair had been good friends for some time. They’d both joined the PPDC at the same time-- granted, Newt had been a  _ little _ younger, but who was keeping score? It’d been Tendo who had taught Newt how to stop dressing like he had just walked out of his mother’s basement ( Tendo’s words, not his ), and had gotten Newt in with a good group of friends. He’d never treated Newt like he was owed anything for this, though. He’d just treated it like common courtesy. Over the years, they’d continued to work in parallel, paths remaining close and direct.

 

Direct. Right. Directly to Tendo’s, once again,  _ very nice _ mattress, where Newt had to constantly remind himself he was, thought that wasn’t quite as interesting as where  _ Tendo _ was: directly on top of him, equally shirtless ( for fans of his suspenders:  **don’t worry** , they were still present, latched to Tendo’s pants, gently brushing against the sensitive skin of Newt’s exposed midriff ), and kissing him with the kind of frustrated clumsiness of someone who was not remotely prepared for this situation.

 

It’d all  _ started _ when their day had  _ ended _ , and Newt and Tendo were sitting at the LOCCENT control panel. They were rested with their backs against the vast array of buttons, arms crossed and shoulders touching as they argued about which Kaiju was the coolest ( Tendo was partial to Trespasser, which Newt said was cheating, because Trespasser was by default one of the coolest because he was the first ). Somewhere around debating where body count fell into the coolness levels of a given Kaiju, Tendo had slipped in something about his own body count, and Newt had laughed.

 

Then they’d ended up at Tendo’s apartment, which was just as bizarrely dapper and enigmatic as Tendo himself. The door had just barely shut behind them when Tendo had taken Newt’s tie in his hand, rubbing the cloth with his thumb, speaking softly about its material. Newt had been frozen on the spot, entire body sparking electric with nervous and suddenly  _ aware _ energy. Tendo had run his hand up the length of Newt’s tie, stopping at the knot, still saying something that Newt’s terrified mind literally had not been able to process. Tendo had then, with the practiced accuracy of someone who had  **definitely** done this before, pulled Newt’s tie until their bodies and lips were pressed together, and suddenly the entire day in Stacker Pentecost’s Time Out Corner felt worth it.

 

Somewhere along the line, Newt had ended up pinned against the door to Tendo’s bathroom, hands gripping the fabric of Tendo’s ( very well-starched, he’d discovered ) shirt, fingers shaking too hard for him to even consider an attempt at unbuttoning it. Newt had been trying to find something on the wall to cling to, still caught in a desperate attempt to get some leverage, when his hand had found the doorknob instead. Newt had almost fallen backward, but Tendo’s unwavering grip on his tie had kept that disaster from happening.

 

Tendo chuckled, and Newt had felt every single bone in his body turn to liquid.

 

Well, except one.

 

They’d made their way over to the bed in a series of reckless, clumsy staggers. Newt ended up  _ literally _ falling back onto the mattress, and looked up at Tendo with those eyes that spoke the universal language of  _ fuck me _ before grabbing him by his goddamn suspenders and pulling him down on top of himself. Finally not having to concentrate on locking his knees, Newt had been able to get Tendo’s shirt off, its ending up somewhere on the ground around the bed them, Newt’s own shirt having been lost in their brief transit from the open door to the bed.

 

So, Newt had made a decent case for how  _ good _ of a choice this was. His hands gripped Tendo’s hips, pulling him down so that they could grind like the heated nerds that they  _ were _ . Tendo stopped kissing Newt, which resulted immediately in the most embarrassing whine of all time-- which was halted as soon as Newt felt Tendo kissing his neck, the older man’s hands running down his stomach and beginning to pick at the button of Newt’s skinny jeans, which suddenly felt like the greatest inconvenience in the world.

 

In a matter of seconds, they jeans gone, and Tendo was looking at Newt like he could swallow him whole ( God, Newt wouldn’t complain if he did ).

 

Now, listen. Newt was a bitch-ass nerd, and he knew this, and he loved himself despite ( or, perhaps,  _ in spite of _ ) this fact. That said, he’d had a few four-to-five star blowjobs in his life. The one that followed the absolutely  _ filthy _ look that Tendo had just given Newt, however, blew this scale out of the water. Newt felt a little bit of his soul leave his body every time Tendo’s mouth vibrated around his cock with a moan, one hand gripping the base, the other braced on Newt’s chest, as if Newt would try ( or be able ) to sit up while Tendo was physically reminding Newt that he would literally never receive head this good for the rest of his life.

 

Being the sly, greasy, and somewhat arrogant nerd that he was, Tendo didn’t bother waiting for Newt to come before stopping. Instead, he pulled his mouth off of Newt’s cock and pressed a series of kisses up the length of his stomach, which was almost enough to distract Newt from the fact that, at some point during this, Tendo had also lost his pants, meaning that they were both buck-ass naked, lying on a bed that Newt was starting to believe was made of concentrated sexual energy. Then, a single, clear thought through the haze of arousal:  _ I’m about to get fucked by Tendo Choi _ .

 

Part of Newt wanted to tell Tendo to hold off, so that he could thank everyone who had brought his life to this shining climax (  _ ha _ ). This was the kind of honor that mandated a three-piece suit and a plus one and a theatre full of people cheering him on. However, since Tendo was currently creating what could only be described as the greatest hickey that this side of the globe had ever seen, Newt decided to focus on his most immediate priorities. Currently at the top of his list was mentally preparing himself to have his sex life changed forever.

 

It turned out that, like every other person that had been bestowed the high honor of being fucked by Tendo Choi, Newt was not ready. Even though Tendo took it slow, fingering him with a level of care that, frankly, Newt had not expected out of the same guy that had gripped him by the tie and pinned him against a door, Newt had practically (  _ literally _ ) begged Tendo to just  _ fuck him _ . Being a man of class and chivalry, Tendo obliged this request, and Newt saw the face of God.

 

Alright, that’s a lie. He only really saw the headboard of Tendo’s bed. However, what he  _ felt _ \-- it was the shit that people write poems about. Newt was on his hands and knees, Tendo bent over him, their fingers intertwined as Tendo fucked him with a determined, almost violent pace. As their bodies moved against one another, Newt felt Tendo’s teeth dig into his shoulder, then his lips press gently on the skin, the rough and tender expressions doing absolutely nothing to abate Newt’s incessant, absolutely  _ filthy _ moaning.

 

Newt came with a grunt, hips bucking into Tendo’s hand, which had been pumping his erection for what had felt like both two seconds, but also could have been an eternity. Time didn’t exist in a world where one was getting plowed by a man who was about 60% hair gel. Tendo came shortly afterwards, hips flush against Newt’s ass, lips pressed against the crook where Newt’s neck met his shoulder. For a few moments, they stood frozen in time, panting, until Newt pulled himself forward, gasping as he felt a sudden emptiness, rolling on to his back and looking up at Tendo-- just in time to watch Tendo gently lick his come off his hand. 

 

_ God, if you’re out there,  _ Newt thought,  _ I am fairly confident I have done absolutely nothing to deserve this. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove my worth _ .

 

Then, Tendo took off his condom, dropping it in a trashcan and returning to the bed. He didn’t move with the same abrupt, forceful air as before. Now, he was languid and gentle, lying down next to Newt, pulling Newt’s arm around him ( to which Newt simply couldn’t refuse ), and resting his hands on Newt’s chest. Idly, Newt wondered if Tendo could hear how hard his heart was hammering.

 

Even if he  _ could _ hear it, Tendo didn’t seem to care. Instead, his fingers traced the outline of Newt’s chest tattoo, a sincerely tender gesture. Newt’s thumb idly stroked Tendo’s jaw. Newt felt at peace, not necessarily because of the position he was in, but more due to the fact that he’d just had every single other emotion fucked out of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
